


in which certain things are crossed out

by giucorreias



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Light Angst, M/M, Pining, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-22 16:54:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17063489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/giucorreias/pseuds/giucorreias
Summary: Bilbo was ready for Thorin to hate him.





	in which certain things are crossed out

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TwistedRomance](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwistedRomance/gifts).



> This is for TwistedRomance's birthday, on the 22nd. I'm a bit early, but that's better than being Very Late. So, I wanted to do something more romance and cuteness but at this point in time I didn't think I'd be able to do that in a way that satisfied me and in less than 2k, so well. 
> 
> What you need to know to read this fic: most of it is explained in the fic itself, but there's a part that i didn't deign to explain because it wouldn't sound so nice, so the words fade when the soulmate dies and the words turn black when they're said and that's it. If anything is confusing lemme know and I'll do my best to explain :T
> 
> Hope you like this, Clara.

“I have never been so wrong in all my life,” Thorin says, walking towards him, well and very much alive, and Bilbo has absolutely no idea what to do—so he stays there, rooted in place, as his soulmate’s arms envelop him on a hug and his whole world tilts on its axis.

He was ready to almost die and be a burden, as his words stated he would. He wasn’t ready for this forgiveness—this easy affection.

 

* * *

 

The words never showed up all at once, at least not in Hobbits. A fauntling was usually born with a part of them—the first word or so—and as they grew up, the words would slowly fade in, until they were completely painted on the Hobbit’s body, just above the heart.

Most people had soft, heartfelt words. It was said Yavanna herself would look into a Hobbit’s future, choose the most important words their soulmate would ever tell them, then little by little make them real by writing them on skin. For many, it was a source of hope for a better time, of certainty of a happy moment; for many, it was a sign of pure, unadulterated love.

All Bilbo knew was that if Yavanna thought those were the most important words his soulmate would ever tell him, then he was better off alone.

 

* * *

 

“ _You nearly got yourself killed! Did I not say that you would be a burden? That you would not survive in the wild and that you had no place amongst us?_ ”

 

* * *

 

His mother had told him that when she was a youngling, before she married his father, even before she had all of her words, she would walk around The Shire and feel some places calling out to her: a bakery, a house, a garden.

She never followed the call—she firmly believed that they would meet when it was time, but sometimes, hours later, she would go back to those places and touch the same objects her soulmate had touched, feeling her words tingle and her heart speed.

Bilbo never felt the same, never felt inclined to enter a certain farm or eat a certain pie, to favor a certain flower (he ignored the longing he felt towards a place he never met, the desire to follow the road and leave the shire behind). He thought perhaps because he dreaded meeting his soulmate so much, he had buried all of his instincts deep where he wouldn’t have to deal with them.

And he didn’t, until he did—because as soon as Thorin shows up, as soon as the doors open, as soon as Gandalf says “he’s here”, Bilbo _knows_. It’s half logic, he consoles himself; no one in The Shire would be so rude, no matter how much they hated their soulmate: no one in the Shire would taint Yavanna’s hand like that.

It’s easy to bury his disquiet, his fear, his unease, and use his anger. It’s easy to pretend Thorin is nothing to him but a frustrating, pig-headed, stupid-

 

* * *

 

His mother used to rub her chest when she was nervous, to feel the shape of the words. She said it made her remember more vividly the moment they were said—the face of his father, as he promised to build her the biggest house the shire had ever seen, the size a representation of the love he felt for her ( _it was the first time he used the word love_ , she had told him, _and that made it even more special_ ).

Bilbo avoided looking at his, touching it. He often wondered if there was any way to get rid of it. When all his friends and family got married, once everyone started having children, he knew he’d resent the fact he was fated to end up all alone on the biggest house the Shire had ever seen.

 

* * *

 

He decides not to go and changes his mind about it a thousand times. He doesn’t sleep, staring at the contract that seems to stare right back at him. He wishes it would combust spontaneously, so he wouldn’t have to face it anymore.

He wonders if Gandalf knows—he feels like he does.

 

* * *

 

“One day, I’m going on an Adventure!” he said, eyes shining bright with excitement. By then, the words hadn’t mattered as much as the fact he’d leave the shire behind and become something none of his friends would ever be able to imitate.

The wizard smiled softly, looking down, the way an adult does to children who say things that are absurd. “Will you, now?”

Bilbo nodded, with absolute certainty. “I _know_.”

 

* * *

 

He knows.

 

* * *

 

In the end, he decides that at the very least he’ll give himself the chance to hear the words Yavanna chose for him. He’s had his whole life to get used to the idea of his soulmate hating him, and looking at his empty house after having the company of thirteen dwarves, he feels like the emptiness will be worse than the hate.

Is it worse to never love or to love and lose? Bilbo will never know. Standing against his door, looking at the chair Thorin sat at, remembering his face as he sang, Bilbo feels, he _feels_. It’s late.

It’s too late.

He runs.

 

* * *

 

“You shouldn’t doubt the wisdom of Yavanna,” she said, voice ever so soft. “If she gave you those words, then they mean something special.”

“Mother-”

“Did you know,” she interrupted him. “Did you know, that I almost didn’t meet your father? He tells me he waited for me, all those times I felt the call. But I didn’t go, and he thought I didn’t want him, and he gave up on me. He’d have married Lobelia,” she laughed. “Can you imagine them together?”

Bilbo could. He thought maybe his father would be happier, with someone more similar to him, with someone less adventurous. He thought maybe words were stupid things that didn’t really matter and didn’t really bring the happiness they promised.

He didn’t say any of that as his mother smiled at him, caressed his cheek.

“Go and see the pie on the oven, I think it’s done.”

The pie was his father’s favorite.

 

* * *

 

Bilbo wonders if dwarves have words. He thinks about asking, but doesn’t dare to. He’s afraid they don’t, and Thorin will never know that Yavanna thought they should be together. He’s afraid they do, and Thorin carries his words just above his heart (and what kind of words would they be-).

 

* * *

 

“What’s the thing you hate the most about mother?” Bilbo asked, sitting beside his father as they smoked together. It was early night and Belladona was off somewhere doing something—they didn’t know the specifics. Certainly nothing respectable.

“Her stubbornness,” he answered. “You can give that woman all the arguments, and she will not be made to change her opinion.” His father slapped the bench they were sitting with his hand.

“And what do you love the most?”

“Her stubbornness,” he answered again, this time with a softer tone. “She will not be made to change her opinion.”

“That makes no sense, father.”

“I’ll tell you a secret,” Bungo blew a puff of smoke, watched it as it drifted towards the sky. “Love makes no sense.”

 

* * *

 

The worst part is, he never sees Thorin smile. He thought perhaps this whole journey would be worth it if he could take the memory of his soulmate’s smile with him back to his empty house, to describe them over to his nephews and nieces on his old age, sitting down under the sun and smoking his pipe—like the old Took used to.

He’ll remember Thorin’s cold eyes, though, the harsh lines of his face, and the weight of his footsteps, the grace of his movements. He supposes those will have to do. As far as memories go, at least he’ll have them.

 

* * *

 

“Do you think you’d have married Lobelia if not for the words?” He asked. The question burned on his tongue and he regretted it as soon as it escaped his lips, but his father didn’t react the way Bilbo expected him to.

His father laughed.

“No, of course not.”

Confused, Bilbo started: “But mother said-”

“I never loved Lobelia,” his father interrupted him, as if the answer should clear all of Bilbo’s doubts. It didn’t. It couldn’t.

“And did you love mother?” His voice trembled.

Bungo didn’t hesitate: “With all my heart.”

 

* * *

 

Bilbo wonders what about Thorin that makes his heart beat faster, his hands sweat. It’s not the way he looks—though that’s a part of it—and it’s certainly not the way he’s treated. It’s perhaps the way Thorin never gives up, no matter what happens, and the way he keeps moving on despite the circumstances.

The way he’s still regal, a true king, even without a kingdom. The way his people so easily follow his lead—the way Bilbo can’t help but do the same. There is some degree of magnetism to Thorin’s personality that Bilbo can’t help but be attracted to.

It has nothing to do with the fact Thorin will one day say his words—Bilbo’s sure even without them he’d be damned to fall in love with someone so utterly unattainable, so incapable of loving him back.

 

* * *

 

When the orc lifts his weapon, all Bilbo can think of is that he hasn’t heard the words yet—he wasn’t _wrong_.

He reacts.

 

* * *

 

(the pain of seeing the words fade would be worse than seeing them turn black—than hearing them come out of Thorin’s mouth)

 

* * *

 

Later, Bilbo will think it’s funny how a single sentence can change the meaning of a speech. Later, as Thorin whispers Khuzdul against the raised skin above his heart, Bilbo will realize that when he stopped looking at his words, they were not still complete. He’ll slide his finger over the _I’ve never been so wrong in all my life_ , and say “Oh”.

Now, all he can think about is how he fits so very perfectly into the cradle of Thorin’s arms—how his jagged edges and straight lines feel so very soft against Bilbo’s face.

It’s really, truly hard to step away.

 

* * *

 

The eagles fly away and they’re safe for now. Bilbo turns away—he _has_ to, he doesn’t think he can control himself if he keeps looking at Thorin now that he knows the meaning of his words, now that they’re not words of hate—

Now that he’s forgiven.

Bilbo turns away, and what he sees strikes him with awe.

“Is that what I think it is?” He asks, though he doesn’t really believe anyone will answer. Gandalf says something—and so does Thorin, then conversation picks up and Bilbo can only listen with half an ear.

He keeps thinking the journey is almost done and he’s not sure he’s ready to give up on Thorin yet. Sitting down and telling the children about Thorin will not do him justice. He doesn’t think there are words that could do that dwarf any justice.

“But we’ll take it as a good sign—a good omen.” Thorin says and Bilbo has to smile at the unexpected optimism. He’ll have to remember this, too.

“You’re right,” he says. “I do believe the worst is behind us.”

He’s so distracted looking at the mountain that he doesn't notice Thorin's sharp inhale, or the way he trades a look with Balin.

Bilbo does turns back in time to see the smile.


End file.
